


Reminisce

by scatter



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Gen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-12
Updated: 2011-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-18 00:04:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatter/pseuds/scatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Souji's here, Dojima finds himself thinking about Chisato.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reminisce

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the Persona 4 Kink Meme: _Dojima reminisces over his wife_.

It's hard not to think about Chisato now that Souji's here.

Not that Dojima's ever been able to forget her (he's wanted to sometimes and he hates himself for it). Little things remind him of what he's lost, what he still has to set right – the empty spot on the other side of the bed that's too big for just him, the vial of perfume he can't bring himself to throw out, the spot in the yard where she used to do her morning exercises, and worse of all Nanako. She's growing up to be her mother's child, smart and kind and taking on responsibilities she shouldn't have to without a complaint, just a sad look in her eyes that's worse than anything she could ever say. That's like her mother. Like his sister too, and Dojima has vague memories of when he was young and his sister cooked his meals, saw him off to school, and made sure his homework was done. He's been surrounded by strong women all his life and that makes his weakness worse.

A good father would be there for his daughter, let her enjoy her childhood and her remaining parent. A good detective would have found the car by now, would have more than just worn scraps to pour over in the middle of the night. A good man wouldn't have let this happen, would deal with it better.

Dojima's about given up on being a good man. He's settled for adequate and he's not sure he's making even that, but he hasn't figured out how to do better.

Souji's helping him rediscover that, one stilted conversation at a time. They're getting easier now, coming more naturally and he's starting to look forward to getting in after work and having his reading interrupted. He'll put his newspaper down and Souji will take a seat at the table and they'll talk about nothing or something, about things meaningless or painful.

Painful has been coming up more and more often as Souji takes charge of the conversations, leads them to places Dojima doesn’t want to go.

_Tell me about your wife. Tell me about the accident._

All the while he's got Chisato's coffee cup in hand and he's looking at him with his sister's eyes, her voice sad in his head. _Tell me why you never keep in touch anymore._

Too complex to answer, the pain still too fresh, and what would she think if he said her baby brother has become a failure? He'd said he was busy instead and hung up on her. The next day she'd called back and asked him to take care of her son.

He'd said yes because he owed her too much to make up and because Souji was old enough to take care of himself.

Dojima's used to keeping memories of Chisato locked away and that's where he likes them. He's gone over them too many times for them to bring anything other than a sense of loss. The year after her death he'd thought of nothing but, doesn't remember much of anything else (nothing but a sad birthday party for Nanako, one balloon and a cheap cake bought last minute, and not being able to make it through the song Chisato had always led). Souji unlocks those thoughts, brings them down with the coffee mug he takes from the cabinet and makes Dojima look at them again with different eyes, won't let him turn his head away. Grief-tinged eyes, sure, he'll never get over that, but when Souji adds cream and sugar and his spoon _clink-clink-clink_ s against the rim Dojima remembers:

_Chisato, her coffee so sweet it was undrinkable, tongue peeking out to catch the last drop anyway; Chisato, long hair pulled back while she worked, sweat dripping down her face and framing her smile; Chisato in his arms, Nanako in hers, and no one talking, no TV on, no thoughts of work, no thoughts at all._

And they hurt to think about, it's like tearing a wound open with his fingers, but Souji sits next to him and lets him have his grief and the silence isn't choking for once, isn't threatening to overwhelm him. It's Souji's silence, too respectful and too understanding for someone who's just sixteen, and Dojima comes out of it with a new scab, the wound healing a little more each time, getting easier to live with.

He's thought about throwing the Chisato's coffee mug out more than once, almost did it in the first year, but lately when he sees Souji holding it, sees his fingers curled around the body, he remembers:

_Chisato's long fingers gripping the ceramic and her smile small above the rim, the steam rising to veil her face. Too early for Nanako to wake, too early for work, too early for anything but them and her voice too soft to hurt even in a memory, "Ryotaro."_

And the pain it brings isn't quite as bad as it used to be, is edged with a faint, old pleasure he's almost forgotten but wants to remember. So he continues to sit down at the table with Souji and makes plans to call his sister.

It's been too long.


End file.
